


Dancing Around the Issue

by IrishWitch58



Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: Costume Parties & Masquerades, Historical Dress, M/M, Slow Dancing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-13
Updated: 2019-10-13
Packaged: 2020-12-14 19:33:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 8,287
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21021101
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IrishWitch58/pseuds/IrishWitch58
Summary: Q and Moneypenny plan for a masquerade ball. The costumes are not what Q expected.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I love costumes and the freedom they afford. Changing one's external appearance drastically allows you to behave outside your usual self

Q looked up from the latest AAR, this one from 004. The spelling and grammar were correct. The sentences scanned but he was still having a hard time reconciling the contents with the recorded transcripts. The arid prose seemed to have nothing in common with the explosion riddled and tension fraught escapade in Jakarta the agent had just returned from. It might be a gift or maybe the darned 00's were just so inured to the level of violence in their missions that it was all the same to them. 

Bond might be the exception. The AARs in 007's file, when he could be persuaded to actually complete them properly, were often bizarre. The last one had been particularly entertaining. Surely villainous masterminds didn't monologue their entire plan, did they? And camel chases across the Gobi desert seemed like something out of an adventure novel. Q was inclined to regard it all as a success anyway. The objective was accomplished and Bond returned in one piece, an outcome that made something in Q's chest feel warm in a way he chose not to examine too closely. He knew he was attracted to Bond. He was reasonably sure nothing would ever come of it so he ignored it most of the time. 

Sighing, he finished reading the last few paragraphs and closed the file. He signed off the program, about to make himself more tea when there was a chime from the door. Q checked the security camera. Eve Moneypenny was grinning at the lens and wiggling her fingers in a 'hello' gesture. Q considered just ignoring her but the woman had a fierce determination and was quite capable of waiting him out. He tripped the door lock and greeted her as she entered.

“Hello, Eve. What do you need?” He was aware he sounded a little curt but he was also aware that you underestimated Moneypenny at your peril. 

“Why Q, I'm not allowed to visit a friend?” She settled in the visitor chair and smiled. Q was more sure than ever that she was up to no good.

“Of course you are. But we both know you're after something so let's just get to that, shall we?” Q sat back in his own chair and flicked the door lock back on.

Eve tapped a manicured nail thoughtfully on the chair arm. “I take it you saw the email about the masquerade ball.”

Q's nerves prickled. “I read it. The Halloween Masque Ball. What has that got to do with me?”

Eve's grin was positively alarming. “We're going together.” She held up a hand when Q spluttered a protest. “Let me finish. There's a prize for best costume, five thousand pounds to be donated to a charity of the winner's choice. You go along with me and we have the best chance of winning and you can donate the money to that cat rescue you support.”

Q held his tongue and considered. Bargains with Moneypenny were like bargains with the devil. There were always strings somewhere. “Tiny Tabbies gets the money if we win. What do you get?”

“I get the enormous satisfaction of bragging rights, dear Q. Plus I get a date to keep the persistent arse from accounting away from me so I am not forced to inflict GBH on his odious carcass.”

It sounded too reasonable. There still must be a catch somewhere. “No cheesy Dracula capes or furry suits?” he questioned, watching Eve carefully.

“I told you I have a plan. The costumes will be over the top but classy.”

“How classy?” Q persisted.

Eve, scenting victory, smiled engagingly. “Next year begins a new decade of the '20's. We'll go in costumes from the 1920's, flapper dresses and Gatsby suits. We'll look amazing.”

Q conceded that did sound good and nodded. “Where do we get something like that? Nothing from some tatty rental place, I hope.”

Eve leaned forward, conspiratorially. “I have a friend who manages a theatrical warehouse. Esme has agreed to outfit us in some very good quality stuff.”

Q considered the proposal carefully. An evening at a fancy dress party and a possible prize for his favorite shelter. It was a good offer. Just not good enough.

“I want a bit more, Eve. The prize is not guaranteed.” Q said quite reasonably.

Eve stared back steadily. “I'll throw in a forgiveness on every bet you've lost. All of them. But you have to follow my plan exactly. I have this completely worked out.”

“Put it in writing,” Q countered. “I want a written statement in your handwriting.” He mentally patted himself on the back. He knew how to bargain.

Eve accepted a sheet of plain printer paper and wrote out an agreement stating that she would forgive all of the bets Q had lost to her if he followed her direction for the party and that, in the event of them winning the prize, he would get to decide it's disposition. She signed with a flourish and made him sign it as well. “I want a copy of that,” she said and Q scanned and printed a second copy and handed it to her. Q shook her hand, wondering why he still felt uneasily as if he had been conned. 

Eve stood and sauntered to the door. “I'll meet you after work so we can go to see Esme. She's going to love you. Ta.” Q buzzed the door for her and she closed it behind her as she left.


	2. Chapter 2

His shift over, Q had all but forgotten the conversation in the round of activities in Q branch. Eve showed up quite promptly at the end of the day and Q realized he had agreed to whatever plot she had in mind. For a smart man, he was easily fooled. Still, a bargain was a bargain and he followed her to the car park. 

The warehouse was huge and filled floor to rafters with racks, shelves, and boxes, all labeled with precise notes on sizes, period style and colour. Esme, the sole person present when they arrived, was tiny, with hair dyed a startling magenta and wearing a flowing multicolored dress. She peered over reading glasses at Q after she hugged Eve, welcoming them both. “Eve sweetheart. I pulled some things that I think might suit.” She held out a dainty hand, manicured and painted in multiple bright shades and Q clasped it carefully. This diminutive sprite of a woman was old although she seemed to have the energy of a toddler. “You're Eve's friend?” she asked as she looked up at him.

“I'm Quinn,” he said, using his usual public persona. “Very pleased to meet you.”

Esme stepped back and cocked her head to one side, eying Q up and down. She addressed Eve. “He's perfect. I can dress him in just about anything and he'll be amazing.” She stepped away a bit, gesturing at them both. “Come along, pretties. Let Esme make you fabulous for your party.”

She led them to a corner where she had a small platform with two full length mirrors and some cafe stools arranged. Q and Eve seated themselves on the stools and Esme hauled over a rack full of plain garment bags bearing white tags with small print on them. She shifted the bags a bit and pulled one down, handing it to Eve and gesturing to a shoe box just below the platform. “I think this will be quite the perfect thing. Go try it on.” She pointed at a curtained area and Eve obediently took the bag and the shoe box and disappeared behind the curtain. 

Esme continued examining the tagged garment bags, shifting them side to side. She gestured at Q. “Stand up, please.” She approached him with a tape measure and began to note measurements as she moved around him. She returned to the rack and moved two of the bags to the far end, She opened one and pulled out a dress in violet and silver with beaded fringe at the bottom hem and embroidered gauze at the neckline. It fell straight from the shoulders and the gauze extended down the back, where the dress plunged in a deep V. Q thought it quite striking and wondered why Esme hadn't had Eve try that one on first. 

Eve emerged from the dressing room and Q's heart sank as he realized how thoroughly he'd been duped. Eve was wearing a very attractive dark grey suit with flat tailored trousers and a brilliant violet tie displayed against a silvery grey shirt, two toned black and white wingtips on her feet and a classic camel hair overcoat thrown over her arm. She turned in front of the mirror while Esme tweaked at the fit. Q cursed internally as he realized what the terms of this agreement were going to hold him to. 

“Moneypenny,” he said flatly, “you are a conniving and heartless person.”

She grinned and walked over, holding up the dress. “It's just a costume,” she coaxed. “Remember, charity?”

He huffed and grabbed the hanger and shoe box thrust at him and stalked toward the dressing alcove. Sighing he removed his own clothes and slipped the dress over his head. It slithered downward, the beads clicking lightly as he moved. He looked in despair at the shoes, shiny patent leather with rounded toes and a strap fastened with a glittery paste gem flower that matched the dress. The heels were thick and substantial at least. He slid them on and ventured a move. Happily he did not fall off. He grit his teeth and stepped out from behind the curtain. Esme saw him first and clasped her hands together beaming. She gestured him excitedly to the mirrors. Eve, to Q's surprise, didn't laugh. She just stared. Q shrugged and walked carefully to the platform, stepping up and turning to catch sight of himself and his jaw dropped. He actually didn't believe it was him. The dress style suited an angular form like his and the heels did something to his posture. And, after all, it was a fancy dress party and theater people frequently performed roles written for a different sex. Eve might actually be onto something. Esme was circling him clucking a bit at his pants waistband which showed at the bottom of the back opening. “You'll need something else underneath.” She bustled over to a plastic bin and dug out a scrap of satin and a pair of stockings with seams. The undergarment was plain black satin and had loose leg openings. The stockings were a dark violet colour like the dress. He retreated back to the dressing room and exchanged his plain briefs for the satin drawers and then came back outside to puzzle out the stockings. Esme showed him how to roll them and get his foot in then slide them up. She then showed him how to wear them the way a more provocative young woman would, rolled down to just above the knee. This time when he looked in the mirror, the line of the dress looked better. Esme finished it off with a headband that sleeked his hair down and sported a purple feather attached by a silver clip. 

“Now Eve, you'll need to get him to wax legs and such. And he will need to shave very close and get some help with makeup. For now though, come over here my dear.” Esme shooed Q over to a counter against one wall where a variety of cosmetics covered every surface. Q, at this point, was resigned to the entire matter. Best to not make a fuss since he had agreed to this insanity. He removed his glasses and Esme had him sit quite still while she applied several things to his face, commenting to Eve about blending and getting the colour right for the era. After finishing with a red lipstick, he was spun to face the mirror. He opened his eyes and expected to see a clown. Shockingly, he looked like the picture of his great grandmother on her wedding day. “Do you have contacts, young man?” Esme asked. He nodded and she smiled happily at him in the mirror. “You wear the contacts, have Eve help paint your face and no one will recognize you.”

Eve looked searchingly at Q. “I was sure this would work. I'm even more sure now. We just need to have you practice walking in those shoes a bit and we are going to amaze everyone.”

Q stared at the image in the mirror and then back at a smiling Esme and Eve. Perhaps he could just look on it like the undercover work the field agents did. They took on a new persona frequently. However, he was sure nobody had ever outfitted 007 in a beaded dress, heels and lipstick. That led him to another awful thought. Any of the agents not out in the field would be attending the party. Bond would be there and see him dressed like this. This just could not get any worse.


	3. Chapter 3

It got worse. So much worse. 

“Dancing lessons? You signed me up for dancing lessons?” Q stared in dazed disbelief at the glass storefront that showed a well lighted wood floored room with couples practicing dance steps. 

Moneypenny turned the car off and grabbed her mobile and a tote from the back seat. “We are taking lessons, Q. We have to be able to dance at the party and it's better if we work out moves ahead of time. Plus, you need to learn the Ginger Rogers part.” When Q just looked at her blankly, she continued, “Backwards and in heels.” 

Having decided his life was going to continue to be odd for the foreseeable future, Q followed along. The receptionist acknowledged their appointment and directed them upstairs. Moneypenny had, thankfully, secured them private lessons. It proved to be a wise choice. Q was naturally graceful and actually considered himself a good dancer but the addition of the heels and trying to follow a partner's lead proved challenging. He and Moneypenny stepped on each others toes and Q went over on his backside twice. Eventually they managed to get through a song without a major mistake and the instructor advised them to make at least one more appointment. Eve did that on the way out. 

A week later, Q realized they had actually improved. He had, of course, been practicing moving in the heels while he was at home, so that may have been some help. If he was going to impersonate a woman, he might as well put in a good effort.

He was feeling a bit better about the whole party business. After all, he and Eve were putting a great deal of work into it. He thought they actually had a good chance of winning the grand prize. He was contemplating this when there was a knock on the office door. He was expecting an employee with a question on a project. He was most certainly not expecting James Bond. 

“Morning, Q.” The man just sailed in and settled on the office sofa, stretching an arm along the sofa back and picking up a pen left on the small table. He flipped it over and around his fingers. 

Q sighed and tried hard to keep his attention on the screen of his laptop. Looking at Bond was a lure he did not want to fall victim to. The man was damned attractive, he knew it, and Q would have given a lot for that casual sensuality to be directed at him. As if that could ever happen. He worked through several lines of the proposal he was reading and realized Bond was still there, watching. Of course the man was always watching. It was his job and his nature Q supposed. But more specifically he was watching Q. His steady gaze was practically palpable and Q finally gave in and spoke.

“Did you want something, 007?” It seemed safest to keep this on a professional level.

“So direct, Q. Might it not be possible I just came to spend some time with my favorite Quartermaster?” The tone was light and slightly amused and when Q risked a look, a tiny smile graced the handsome face. “I was wondering if you had any idea about the masquerade. It seems everyone is obliged to attend, barring world crises of course. Don't tell me you're going in fancy dress?”

Q felt panic claw up his back. Eve couldn't have told. This had to be just a fishing expedition. Q regulated his breathing and looked back at his screen before answering in as off handed a way as he could. “Since I am part of the organization, yes I am attending. And since the invitation states fancy dress, yes I have a costume. And no, I am not sharing what I will be wearing with you.”

Bond chuckled. “Harry Potter? Clark Kent? Indiana Jones? You'd look good in a fedora.”

Q relaxed a bit. This was all just Bond trying to get inside information. “I'm not telling you anything, Bond. I can guarantee it's something you'd never expect.” That was absolutely true. Q himself had never expected to find himself in a beaded dress and heels but the party was only a week away and there was a dress hanging in his wardrobe. Bond shrugged, put down the pen he had been playing with and wandered off.


	4. Chapter 4

Three days before the party, Moneypenny appeared in Q's office just at the end of his shift. “Come on. We have an appointment.”

“I don't remember an appointment,” Q stated, nerves quivering. “We did the dancing lessons.”

“Just come along,” she insisted, urging him out the door to the garage. He resignedly belted in to the seat and watched the passing streets. He never should have agreed to this in the first place. That initial decision had pulled him relentlessly down a path strewn with unpleasant surprises. Well, it likely couldn't be any worse than the dress itself.

It was so much worse. Q stared at the tiny Asian woman and then back at Moneypenny. She shook her head and held up her copy of the agreement. “You need to do this or the costume will look silly. It's a quick process. Just let the nice lady do her job.” The nice lady was terrifying. She had a determined glint in her eye that rivaled Moneypenny. Maybe he could book a slow cruise around the world. Before he could say another thing, he was hustled into a chair and the woman approached him determinedly with a length of thread in her hands. He tried to lean back but Moneypenny plucked off his glasses and whispered, “Just think of the kitties, Q.” He tried. He really did but the discomfort of having rows of his eyebrow hairs wrenched out by the thread made his eyes water. He was eventually permitted to lean in and look at the mirror. The result was actually just a sharper arch than he was used to seeing but he actually still had eyebrows. He grabbed at his glasses but Moneypenny held them away. “She'll take you in the back for the rest.”

The rest was even more distressing. He had, apparently, agreed to hot wax being applied to his legs. He had rather expected that from the beginning. He had not expected the same to be done to his back, his chest and his armpits. The wax was removed sharply along with every bit of hair under it and parts of his skin he was sure. The nasty torturer had helpers here and they all smiled at him. Gleeful sadists and they were being paid for this outrage. He emerged with a glare for Moneypenny.

She waited until they were back in the car before she spoke. “You can't have hairy legs under stockings Q. It looks awkward. And the dress is sleeveless and low backed. If you're going to pull it off and have a chance at the prize, everything needs to work together.”

Q crossed his arms and grunted. “I'm not worried about pulling it off, Moneypenny. I just had massive quantities of hair pulled off. It wasn't fun.”

“Women do it all the time, Q. And I heard that loads of male athletes do it as well,” she added in a consoling tone.

“Wouldn't shaving have done as well?” Q knew he sounded petulant.

“This is actually more comfortable in the long run. Shaving means itching when the hair grows back. Anyway, how would you have shaved your back? I certainly wasn't going to do it.” She chuckled at the idea. “This way all we have to do is get you into the costume and get your face painted and we'll be ready to make a grand entrance.” 

She pulled up to his building and he got out, grudgingly waving goodbye. He let himself in and petted his cats, commiserating with their sadly neglected condition as he prepared their evening meal. The spoiled moggies were well padded under their fluffy fur. He was confronted with the dress hanging on the door of his wardrobe in it's protective bag. He sighed. He really shouldn't blame Eve. He'd had a choice and he could still back out. But he valued his word and he did admire the choice of costume on the surface. If it had been anyone but him having to wear it, he would have called it a stroke of genius for the surprise alone. He retreated to the shower, encountering smooth skin where there had been hair this morning. He scrubbed, rinsed and then applied lotion to the waxed areas as he had been advised by the woman at the salon. Only a few more days to the party and he could put all this behind him.


	5. Chapter 5

Eve swept in as soon as Q opened the door, depositing a large garment bag and a tote on Q's small dining table. He eyed the items with the suspicion normally reserved for explosive devices. She was already in costume and grinned at him. “It's a coat. You'll need one.” She studied him as he stood in a dressing gown, freshly showered and shaved. She made a shooing motion. “Let's go then. The limo will be here in a half hour.” She grabbed the tote and waggled it.

“Limo?” Q asked. “We never discussed a limo.”

“You've done everything I asked you and actually complained very little. I think you deserve a limo to make the perfect entrance.” She waited until he settled in the chair in front of a small table where he had placed a mirror and began removing items from the tote, and applying a variety of products to his skin. It all felt a bit strange, like an extra layer of skin between him and the world. She had him blink, smile and dabbed and brushed and finally let him look at the mirror. He was astonished at the change. The absence of the glasses was alteration enough but this was like seeing a portrait of some female relative. Eve grinned over his shoulder. “Lipstick and you're done.” He stared at the bright metallic tube she handed him. “It's easy,” she advised, “and you need to be able to do it so you can touch it up after you drink or eat.” She pulled out a lip balm in pale pink that was all she was wearing. She traced her own lower lip and he copied the move as carefully as he could. Then she did the upper lip from the middle out. Again he copied. “ Now press your lips together like this,” and she demonstrated the technique. She studied him a moment and picked up a kleenex. “Now, if you get a bit too much, dab like this.” He watched as she rubbed a small spot where the red had smudged a bit too far. She dropped the capped tube in a tiny beaded bag with a wrist strap and handed him the stockings.

By the time Eve was done with him, Q had lace gloves up to his elbows, a large paste gem bracelet on one wrist and the bag containing his lipstick, keys and mobile on the other. The dress hung smoothly and the beads clicked and tapped at his legs as he moved. He wore a broad velvet choker with a black pearl dangling from the center. Eve helped him with the long, shawl collared and fake fur trimmed coat that looked like silver fox. His hair had been pinned and topped by the feathered headband and silver ear bobs were clipped to his lobes. They stood side by side in front of the large mirror on the inside of the wardrobe. Q looked at her, looked at himself and shook his head. “You know, I thought you were crazy at first. We look amazing. We look like we just stepped out of a movie set. I'd kiss you but I'd smear my lipstick.”

Eve laughed and stuck out an elbow for him to take. They walked out, locked the door and Q stared at the vehicle at the kerb. It was a classic Rolls Royce, exactly appropriate for the era they were costumed for. A uniformed chauffeur held the door. Q recognized the man as one of the MI6 drivers who ferried executives around. The man had a wonderful poker face. He held out a gloved hand and helped Q into his seat without batting an eye. The car started with a hum of well tuned and maintained machinery and they pulled into traffic. 

Q was feeling optimistic. This was actually exciting. The entire stretch leading up to the evening had seemed like an unnecessarily stressful mess. Now that he was actually on his way, it felt like an adventure. Eve kept looking sideways at him. “What?” he finally asked, laughing a little.

“Oh, I'm just looking forward to the buzz this will create. I wonder how long it will take our highly trained agents to realize who my charming lady companion is.”

Q felt himself go cold all over. Everyone not on the skeleton crew was supposed to be at the ball. M would be there. The non deployed agents would be there. Bond would be there. He wondered if he could bribe the driver to take the car to Dover. A ferry ride might be fun.

Eve must have read his mind. “Relax, Q. Everyone is going to be in costume. M made it a requirement. And if a handsome man asks you to dance, just say yes. Just don't let him get fresh.” Q cringed. The image in his head was Bond, asking him to dance. And he was going to panic. He'd either freeze or run. He wondered if he could hide in a lavatory for the evening.


	6. Chapter 6

There were a pair of greeters at the door of the venue. They were dressed in the sort of formal suits butlers usually sported in period dramas. Q was fairly certain that zombies were rarely hired as butlers. The zombie greeters also had shoulder holsters, likely junior field agents. One of them held the door as the chauffeur assisted Q out of the car. The other examined the tickets Moneypenny presented. They were waved inside to a small lobby with a coat check area and table. Moneypenny handed over her own coat and hat and assisted Q out of his, accepting two tags she handed to Q. He tucked them in the small bag, and found himself smiling confusedly as the coat check girl raved about his costume and made him turn several times so she could see all of it. “It's absolutely the best one I've seen this evening,” she gushed. Q thanked her quietly and he and Eve advanced to the table. There was a young man seated behind it in a pirate costume. He barely looked up as he asked them for their tickets and assigned them numbers for the smaller prize raffles. When he looked up to ask what their costumes were, he did a quick double take. “Miss Moneypenny? Boss?” It was one of Q branch's junior techs and he had recognized them. He stared for several seconds then his face split in a broad smile. “Boss, that is the most amazing costume. I wish I'd thought of it.” 

“Thanks,” Q said, rather at a loss. He was cautiously pleased at the praise he had received for his attire so far but one didn't know him and one was a junior on his staff. Eve held out an arm and they walked into the ballroom together. The room was noisy with multiple conversations and music playing. Q took a few moments as they circled the room to see if he could pick out what his fellow staff were wearing. He noted everything from the expected vampires and other classic monsters to characters from popular culture. Eve handed him a champagne flute from a passing waiter just as a familiar voice spoke from his other side. He turned a bit, and saw M and a woman, the former dressed in Roman toga and a long red cloak and the woman in a long white and gold sheath dress with heavily kohled eyes. Q made a quick connection, Antony and Cleopatra. 

M smiled and drew the woman forward. “Moneypenny, this is my wife, Evelyn. And who is,” he broke off and looked more carefully. Then he spoke quite softly but with a note of absolute glee. “My lord, Q. That is the most amazing thing. I believe Evelyn and I just lost any chance at the grand prize.” He slid a hand under his robes where he appeared to be wearing white athletic shorts. He produced a phone and gestured at Q and Moneypenny to step closer together. Feeling emboldened by the general acceptance they were getting, Q struck a vampish pose with Moneypenny, M chuckling in delight as he took several pictures. 

More guests had been arriving and M excused himself to greet some of the newcomers including, Q noted, Trevelyan. The 00 agent was wearing a costume out of some wildly popular TV fantasy, having been recently advised that he greatly resembled the actor who portrayed the character. Q rather suspected 006 just fancied the idea of carrying around a bloody great sword. 

Eve touched Q's arm and nudged him toward the cleared area of the floor. “Let's dance.” Q settled into the easy steps they had practiced, and focused on the dance instead of watching everyone else for their reactions. He was actually beginning to enjoy himself when a broad figure moved into their space. “So sorry to interrupt,” Trevelyan said, “but I was hoping to be introduced to your charming partner, Miss Moneypenny.”

Eve caught Q's panicked gaze and winked, the miserable strumpet! “This is my second cousin, Livy. She's shy so mind your manners.” She gave the agent a whack on the elbow as she stepped away, leaving Q in the clutches of a confirmed assassin who apparently believed the costume and Eve's nonsense. 

Dancing with a much bigger partner was at once easier and more difficult. Q had learned the right way to move in the damned shoes with Eve who was fairly evenly matched to him in size. Trevelyan was huge by comparison. He was at least sure if he tripped, he wouldn't fall. The man had arms like steel girders. For the first few moments, Q just concentrated on the steps. Eventually he had to look at his partner, however. There was a puzzled half smile on Alec's face. “Sorry,” he said. “You're very attractive and I am sure I know you from somewhere.”

Q gulped and said in a whispery ghost of his usual voice, “I'm sure we've not met. I'm not from London.” Well the last was true enough. His family was from Cornwall. 

Trevelyan squinted and then pulled Q a little closer. “No matter,” he continued as he spun Q around making the beaded fringe swirl. When he pulled him back in, he whispered in Q's ear. “But since I'm already here, maybe you could tell me the other two wishes you had for the genie.”

Well now, this just would not do. Q couldn't fathom how this man had managed to stay alive as long as he had. “006,” he advised in his best Quartermaster tone, ”that is perhaps the worst pick up line I have ever had the misfortune to hear.” When the man stiffened, he grabbed his arm hard and continued, “I expect you to have the good grace to not make a spectacle of your lack of observational skills. Keep dancing.” When Trevelyan obediently continued to move, Q leaned back a little and smiled at him. “I fooled you and presumably will continue to fool other people here. Shall we see how many and how long it takes for them to catch on?” His raised eyebrow was met with a ready nod and very suspect grin. Q rather thought some wagering might be the result. He was counting on Trevelyan's competitive nature to keep him silent and see how other agents fared. It appeared he was now on Q's side. 

Alec mimed zipping his lips and finished the dance by placing Q at Moneypenny's side and bowing over a gloved hand. He gestured the pair of them to a vacant table and disappeared, returning with drinks a few moments later. The secret now out between them, he asked quiet questions about how they had managed the costumes and scoffed at the rest of the attendees. “None of them stand a chance against the pair of you.” He tapped the table with a finger. “This one might never realize at all.” He moved his head minutely to indicate a very junior agent who was hesitantly approaching them. 

Moneypenny scrutinized the wizard costumed young man and said quietly, “Fiver says it takes him most of the dance but he manages.” 

“Done,” Trevelyan replied, just as the fellow reached the table and asked Q very hesitantly if he could have a dance. Getting into the spirit, Q smiled and held out his hand. He returned to the table afterwards and shook his head sadly at Eve. She reluctantly handed over a fiver. 

The pattern repeated for several more dances. The betting went about fifty-fifty. Sometimes Q was recognized, sometimes not. And it was hilarious that some of those that didn't were as well trained as Alec. And Q was actually enjoying the evening. It was full of laughter and he became a lot more daring in his efforts on the dance floor as the night went on. He was taking a break and talking to R, who was wearing a complete set of Jedi robes, and trailing a working R2D2 she had built herself. R's eyes looked pointedly over Q's shoulder as a large hand reached out to his forearm. He turned and felt as if a cold hand had just run up his back. It was Bond of course.


	7. Chapter 7

Bond had chosen to wear a historically accurate Naval uniform from the Napoleonic Wars, complete with the buckled shoes and cockaded hat under his arm. The fingers on Q's arm seemed to burn right through the lace of the glove and he could only blink stupidly as the man shifted to bring Q's hand to his lips as he bowed quite formally. “I noticed you when I came in,” Bond said in that voice that Q heard in his best and worst dreams. “Would you care to dance?”

Of course Bond was an excellent dancer. Q wished he had taken more lessons but he followed easily enough. The tune after that was slower and Bond dropped the hand that had been on Q's upper back, trailing it down over the gauze that was no cover at all for his skin which rose in goose bumps immediately. Gentle fingers stroked at the vee of fabric at the base of his spine and he was breathing much harder than the dance would account for. Bond spun them to the far end of the floor, away from the brighter lights and the tables and his fingers pressed a bit more insistently and he tightened his grip just a fraction on Q's hand. He leaned in brushing his nose lightly over Q's ear, breath tickling and making Q shiver. Q couldn't think what to do. And if Bond got any closer, Q's increasing problem would be apparent. It really wasn't fair. He'd wanted Bond's arms around him and now he'd gotten what he wanted and it was as wonderful as he could have wished. He just wasn't sure if Bond realized it was him or not. Bond's lips skimmed the skin under Q's ear, and he let out a soft sigh, resolved he had to say something. He couldn't let the charade proceed when it was James. Q cared too much and it was better he just end it now. “James,” he started to say just as the lights went up and M stepped up to the DJ's microphone. They both turned to watch the dais.

“Good evening, everyone. Thank you all for attending and being so creative with your costuming efforts. I am always impressed with the inventiveness of the fine people I work with.” There was a smattering of applause. “I will be posting a list of the smaller raffle prizes up here when I'm done but the reason we are all here is the charity prizes. Everyone has worked so hard it was difficult to settle on the winners. The third place prize of 500 pounds goes to Mr. Richards from R and D and his very compelling Terminator costume.” There was applause as the man in question stepped up to accept the prize ribbon and designate his charity. He smiled and waved and held up the ribbon. 

M continued. “Next we have the 1000 pound second prize. Our very own Danielle.” He pointed at R who marched up as the DJ played the Star Wars theme, accepting her ribbon and standing next to Richards as they congratulated each other. 

M waited for the applause to die down and smiled. “I have to say, I was not at all surprised at the choice for the First place prize. Miss Moneypenny, would you and your date please step up to claim your prize.” 

Q felt Bond behind him lean in and whisper, “Congratulations, Q” A broad hand patted him on the hip and he jumped slightly. He joined Moneypenny and they stepped up together, receiving the ribbon which Moneypenny immediately appropriated, and gave the judges the name of Q's charity. They posed with the other winners for photos and lots of applause until people gradually went back to dancing. 

Q sipped a glass of champagne and accepted congratulations for a bit before he realized he was being watched. Bond leaned against the wall, gazing at him with a slight enigmatic smile and gave a nod of acknowledgment. He continued watching as Q crossed the dance floor, making sure the dress swirled as artfully as he could manage. He halted directly in front of Bond. “We never finished our dance,” he said.

“Very true,” Bond responded, holding out a hand. This time the embrace was definitely not formal. Bond pulled him in and placed a very possessive hand on the small of Q's back and tugged sharply until they were pressed close together. The lights were dimmed again and Bond was trailing his lips over Q's neck, a soft whisper of sensation as they moved to the slow music. 

“James?” Q ventured, “when did you know it was me?”

There was a throaty chuckle. “I'd know you anywhere, Q. I've memorized you. The only reason I was looking forward to this blasted do was the chance to see you out of work. To answer, I saw you talking to Danielle. You had your back to me,” and he stroked fingers up and down the curve of Q's spine, “and I couldn't mistake you.”

Q frowned. “What do you mean?”

“You have a very distinctive posture. And a lovely set to your shoulders. And you move your head a certain way when you speak to someone you like.” James smiled and kissed an ear, tugging gently at the silver earbob. 

Q wasn't sure what to say. He knew he worked with spies, certainly. But to realize his actions and mannerisms had been so carefully studied was a bit daunting. He settled for sliding both arms around James' solidly muscled shoulders. They were now just swaying slightly together in a dim corner of the floor. James leaned in and held still just a breath away from Q's mouth. “All right?” he whispered so only Q could have heard him. 

Q breathed out. “Yes.”

The kiss was smooth, easy and nothing like the tumultuous first kiss he had imagined. It was gentle and exploratory and left him trembling with a need for more. When he surfaced for air after several more kisses, he laughed. He had utterly forgotten that he was wearing lipstick and much of it had transferred to James. He groped in his little bag and found a kleenex and wiped away the red while James grinned and returned the favor for him as well. No doubt they had managed to smear the stuff irreparably. James leaned close and pointed at the bag. “You have your mobile?” At Q's nod he leaned in and whispered confidentially, “You could text Eve and let her know I'll get you home.”

Q took only a moment to decide. He tapped out a quick message and headed for the coat check. They passed R on the way and he handed off the other check ticket and told her to give it to Eve. They were out the door and in Bond's car before Eve's message came back. 'Don't you dare let him tear that dress. Esme will murder me.'

He giggled and put the phone away. Bond looked at him curiously. “Was that Eve?”

Q nodded, and pulled off the feathered headband that was brushing the roof. “She wants to make sure the dress is quite safe. It's on loan from a friend.”

Bond kept his eyes on the road but spoke in a voice that carried a world of intent. “The dress will be perfectly fine so long as it's off you by the time I get the door closed behind us.”


	8. Chapter 8

Q realized they were heading to his flat after a few turns. Of course Bond had figured out where he lived. It was an MI6 secured building. He tugged his keys out and began to strip off the bracelet and gloves and unfasten the ribbon around his neck, tucking them into the bag for safekeeping. He was taking Bond at his word. He was finding it difficult to sit still anyway, anticipation and arousal singing along his nerves. The car pulled to a stop and Q was surprised when James handed him out quite smoothly and held a hand out for the keys. He had the door open and Q quickly disarmed the security as they entered. He barely heard the rasp of the locks reengaging as he stepped hurriedly out of the shoes and skimmed the dress off over his head. He had laid it over the back of a kitchen chair when he realized Bond had not followed. He turned and almost burst out laughing as the man struggled with the unfamiliar fastenings of the uniform. Q took quick advantage of the delay. He grabbed the dress and shoes and scurried for the bedroom, restoring the costume to the protective bag and taking a second to scrub his face with the makeup remover wipes Moneypenny had left for him. The cats, alarmed at the sudden activity, disappeared. He was about to skin out of the silk drawers when strong arms wrapped around his middle and James used his mouth to remove the ear bobs Q had quite forgotten. They dropped to the floor unheeded. 

“I'll take care of the rest,” the deep voice insisted as one hand dropped to the line of dark fabric, sliding exploratory fingers under the edge. James dropped down to crouch behind Q, sliding the silky fabric down, placing devilish kisses on Q's bared skin as he did so. Q stared ahead and tried to keep a leash on his feelings. He couldn't remember ever being this quickly aroused by a partner. His cock was already hard and the satin caught on it and he groaned as it slipped free. He stepped out of the drawers and swayed but James caught him and guided him to the bed. He sat, his only attire the rolled silk stockings. James knelt between his thighs, running his hands up and down the length of Q's calves, his own arousal evident in the erection pushing at the front of the plain black briefs he was wearing. James held his eyes as he placed a kiss at Q's knee, right above the stocking and began rolling the material downwards. He repeated the action on the other side, rubbing his palms over hairless skin that felt infinitely more sensitive than it had ever been. Q watched transfixed as the kisses resumed up his thighs, slow inexorable progress that had him crying out at the first soft whisper of breath over his cock. And James bypassed it and moved further, sliding up Q's body and kissing his belly, his chest, licking long swathes over sensitive waxed skin that shivered under the attention. 

He hovered over Q's mouth before descending in a kiss that threatened Q's sanity. All he could feel was the brush of hands on his skin and the heat and devouring demand of James' mouth. He wanted to warn the man he was too close, had wanted and waited too long, but he had no way to do so and just came helplessly as James brushed his erection with a soft caress. Q collapsed panting but James continued the kiss, gentler but thorough. The hand at his groin tickled his sensitive cock and made him whimper. When his mouth was freed, he couldn't even begin an apology for his too fast response. James sat back with a pleased smile. “Now that we've got the edge off, time for the next round.” Q's head spun a bit and he wondered if he'd survive the night if this was only round one.

Q lost track of the events somewhere during a third impossible orgasm. He woke to James hauling him bodily to the shower. He barely remembered to take the contacts out, scrubbed at himself with the least possible effort and relinquished the shower to James. The man had somehow managed to remake the bed while Q was cleaning up. The soiled sheets were piled in a corner, the spares stretched neatly on the mattress and Q tumbled into the bed with a groan. He heard the pad of soft footsteps and the mattress dipped behind him. James obviously intended to stay the night. Q was happy about that. It would have been too depressing to have to sleep alone after an evening like this.


	9. Chapter 9

The ping of his text message app woke Q. He reached blindly for the mobile and realized he couldn't read the bloody thing because his glasses were in the bathroom. A grumble behind him was evidence James was still here. A muscled arm reached over, plucked the mobile from Q's fingers and the deep voice reported in a calm tone, “Moneypenny wishes to know if I, quote, 'rode you into the mattress', unquote and if so, do you need assistance or breakfast.” James handed the mobile back. Q tossed it in the bedside drawer and pointedly closed it. 

“What I need is to know what actually happened. You never struck me as interested.” Q tried not to sound too desperate.

“Interested for awhile,” Bond answered. “I would have said something sooner but it seemed inappropriate to approach you at work. You have a lot of pride. I didn't want to risk doing anything that might interfere with your position. The party was a perfect opportunity. I could take a risk during a fancy dress ball. Everyone is out of their work personas for a bit. It seemed safer.”

Q turned in a flurry of bedclothes and managed to end up straddling Bond's chest and staring down at him. “James, we are a pair of prize idiots. You wouldn't say anything and I was afraid to as well.”

James shifted lazily under Q, the casual strength evident. “Well I suppose better late than never applies. Care for another go or breakfast?” A raised eyebrow punctuated the question. 

Q stared down first at the hopeful leer than his own very sadly depleted cock. “You are a terrible liar or a supreme optimist if you think either of us is getting it up any time soon, so breakfast it is. He softened the pronouncement with a kiss. “Maybe some food will help.”

He climbed off James and out of bed, wandering to the bathroom to find his glasses and smiling to himself. He had kept thinking things were going to get worse. Well, perhaps some people might think they had. He apparently had acquired 007 for a lover. Endless trouble the man was, but it seemed he was Q's trouble now. And the benefits...well they were enough to balance the scales. 

' 

“


End file.
